Caged
by seekingHARRY
Summary: Lydia, left heart broken and alone, struggles to find her place amongst the pack and her friends. Stiles, rejected and beyond worried for his family and friends, commits to solving the mysteries that plague Beacon Hills. Together, the two make an unlikely duo and combine their forces to defeat the alpha pack. Stydia/Martinski Post-Tattoo, Pre-Chaos Rising
1. Chapter 1

**Caged**

**Chapter One: Of Wolves and Men**

* * *

"Could you say that again?"

The voice echoed through the back alley, bouncing off the cement walls on either side of the speaker and traveling back into the street adjacent to him. Past midnight, the majority of Beacon Hills had long ago tucked themselves in that Sunday, now Monday, the weekend having come and gone in a flash. Only a few neon lights lit up the downtown streets, their eerie glow reflecting in puddles and shop windows, but not reaching the depths of the alley corners.

So with only the company of his own footsteps, a young man in an old leather jacket and worn jeans guided himself through the darkness of his super-secret – or not so secret if you asked most or all of his friends – shortcut home through the alley next to the bakery.

"Sorry my connection is cutting ou-"

He stopped, suddenly, mid-sentence, pulling his cellphone from his ear and looking at the screen display, black letters flashing 'Call Disconnected'.

"Damn," he muttered in the silence. "Shitty ass phone…"

He grumbled to himself but kept on his path, stuffing the "shitty-ass" phone in his pocket as he did so.

The alley lead into another street – Granville to be exact – that would connect him almost immediately to Beacon Hills' biggest park, which eventually lead to the safety and warmth of his small apartment. He walked this way almost every night, though he had to admit usually it wasn't quite this late. But he'd have to blame the extra glass of whiskey at the bar and the pretty girl name Amber. Topaz? A jewel, for sure.

Although, if he had to be honest, his longtime girlfriend might prefer to blame him.

He turned left at the end of the alley, finally being bathed in the blue neon light from the Laundromat across the street, no longer completely hidden in shadow. He could even see his way to the park, a large slightly chipping sign reading "Beacon Hills National Park" in big wooden letters.

Thankfully, as he started his journey through the bricked path, the park had street lights that illuminated every twenty feet, making his heart settle back to an average pace. He even pulled out his phone once more to check the service, but it seemed his provider wasn't throwing him any bones tonight. Sighing, he turned a corner next to a large rose bush and nearly tripped right over a lump of black in his path.

"What the-"

He stopped mid curse though as a sound erupted from behind him, something moving around in the bushes.

"Who's there?" he yelled into the darkness, his hands shaking from fear. Another bush to his left shook and he backed up from the sound, towards the other side of the path.

As he moved, however, the moon seemed to peek out from under the clouds as its lights illuminated a spot between two street lights that had once been bathed in darkness. What he'd thought earlier was just a lump of dirt or forgotten bag, finally came into the moonlight and into focus before his eyes.

Before him - lying in a lump - was a grey wolf. Dead, or close to.

He opened his mouth as if to scream, but before he could a hand clamped over his mouth, pulling him away from the scene and into the shadows once more.

* * *

Her eyes began to slide closed as she turned the corner onto Fairway Drive, leaving Beacon Hills High behind her. The streetlights were just starting to pop on and with them Lydia's energy slipped away, pushing a yawn out of her throat.

"Mmm," she moaned into the empty car, stabbing at the fancy touch screen on her dash to play some music. The louder and more obnoxious the better to keep her awake.

Finally she settled on some strange upbeat top 40 that she swore she'd never heard before. She decided to blame the wolves for that one too. It seemed, after all, that they took up so much of her time that she rarely had time for the average teenage activities she'd once enjoyed so much. Admittedly, however, the after effects of last year's kanima-Jackson scandal did provide with some rather unexpected perks. The first being, of course, her new entirely decked out car courtesy of her worried parents, having perceived Lydia's sullen attitude as teenage depression instead of PTSD à la wolf. And after having her windshield crushed in by a crazy suicidal deer, it seemed like the only solution Mr. and Mrs. Martin could come up with.

She could also admit that having burst through a wall in Stiles' beat up Jeep to then encounter her ex-boyfriend turned lizard man, meant Lydia Martin was now very much in the loop. Definitely her favourite perk of the whole scenario. Neither Derek nor Scott – not even Stiles - could keep another secret from her. After all, she _had_ saved all their asses.

But then again, she couldn't exactly blame her over exhaustion on extra credit work for chemistry lab.

Instead she could only blame it on her new rampant curiosity - or perhaps obsession would be more appropriate - on the alpha pack. Maybe she was only interested as a means to keep herself busy and push thoughts of a blue-eyed chiseled-chested ex-boyfriend out of her head, but she couldn't help but also think she might do some good in her research. And it was definitely more productive than sleeping her way through the new batch of freshmen.

What the wolves so evidently lacked was a strategy. They were all so focused on honing their emotions and increasing their pack numbers that they tended to forget to...well, _think_. Perhaps it was wolf hormones, or maybe you simply had to be an alpha male type to accept the bite, but Lydia figured they could use all the help she could give.

At least, it might save their asses again one day.

She yawned again as she turned another corner, nearly jumping the curb as she over steered in her exhausted state. She sighed in relief, however, as she spotted her destination just up ahead, knowing she wouldn't have to risk the lives of any road users much longer.

Pulling up into the driveway, Lydia flashed her headlights twice to let him know she was there before flipping off the engine and hopping out of the car.

She tried her best to look around her before she hurried to the door, as if she'd actually be able to spot someone watching her from the shadows, but knowing full well that in this city mere human vigilance was nothing compared to what went bump in the night.

"Lydia," someone whispered from the building, a slight sliver of light appearing before her. "_Lydia_."

"Hey," she whispered back, her hands stuffed in her pockets as she finally presented herself in front of the door, a slight grimace on her face. "Are you going to let me in or what? Because my outfit is seriously not suited for this weather."

"Yeah, yeah, just give me a sec, will ya?"

The sliver of light disappeared quickly and rattling noises sounded from the other side of the door. Finally, something seemed to slide out of place and the door swung open, the light practically blinding her as her eyes tried to adjust.

"Jesus," she hissed, a hand over her eyes. "Could you maybe try not to burn my eye sockets next time?"

"Whatever you say, your highness."

She ignored the dripping sarcasm and stepped past her host and into the building, letting him close the door before her with a click. Shaking off her coat - which she'd also have to thank her parent's misguided concern for - she heard the locks clack back into place.

"All right, then."

She threw her coat onto the receptionist's desk, which was covered in little figurines of dogs and cats, and followed him into the back room.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," joked Stiles, scratching his head as he flopped down into the swiveling office chair, throwing his feet onto the table in front of him.

However, what appeared to be a table strewn with newspapers and various photocopies, was actually what was used daily to treat the sick pets of Beacon Hills. Deaton had first offered the place to Stiles as a sanctuary to keep all his research from the prying eyes of his father, but as the months stretched on, it had pretty much become his secret office when the pet hospital was closed for the night.

"Ooh by the way," he said, a little excitement slipping through as he pressed and released his foot from the lever that rose and dropped the metal slab-made-table. "I finally got my hands on the Hale house article."

"Really?" she asked, running her fingers over the pages on the table, glancing at headlines and titles as she did. "You find anything?"

"Nah, not really. Mostly just junk the police department came up with to explain it all for the public."

"Hmm," she muttered, not satisfied. "Would it really matter anyways? Allison's crazy ass aunt is dead, right? What would the fire have to do with the alphas?"

"Maybe nothing at all," said Stiles, spinning around once in his chair. "Or, and this is my favorite new theory, it has everything to do with it."

"Get to the point, Stilinski."

He pouted, but continued anyways.

"Well, how do we know Peter and Derek are the only Hales still left out there?"

"Because they all died in the fire, Stiles," she rolled her eyes and continued to scan the papers in from of her. "But brilliant idea, really."

"No, wait. Think about it," he pressed, rising from his feet to push a piece of paper across the counter at her. The headline read 'Inferno Kills Eight'. "Not everyone was in that fire. There has to be more out there, right?"

"Well why couldn't they have all been in the fire? Who says that wasn't their entire family?"

"This does."

He slapped down another newspaper section, though this one didn't seem to be a headline like the first. In small bolded black letters read 'Victoria Hale: 1964-2006', a black and white picture of a women in her fifties staring up at her.

"The obituaries?" she asked, scrunching her eyebrows at the tiny font below the name. "Derek's mom?"

"Aunt," Stiles corrected, taking the paper from her and pointing halfway down the passage. "It says here: 'The community of Beacon Hills gravely says goodbye to one of our finest citizens. Victoria Jane Hale leaves a legacy of leadership, responsibility, and compassion: all qualities we hope this next generation of Beacon citizens can look up to. She will be buried next to her husband, Robert, and leaves behind son, Jordan'."

"A son?" she asked, shaking her head down at the table as she tried to process this idea. "There's another Hale out there somewhere?"

"Well, not so much."

He shuffled through the papers on the table again, pushing past the newspapers until he finally found what he was looking for.

"Yesterday I was visiting my dad at the station, like I do every week," he began. "And usually I just sit and watch him work, re-tie the laces on my lacrosse stick or whatever. But the Sheriff made a mistake. He didn't-"

"Stiles-"

"-realize who he was-"

"STILES!"

He jumped a little as he turned his face to look at her, having seemed to not even realize that he was pacing. Or that Lydia had been glaring at him for the past three minutes.

"What?"

"Could you _please_, for the love of God, get to the damn point already."

"Oh, right. Okay."

He cleared his throat twice, smiled awkwardly, but continued on anyways.

"Right, so when my dad left the room I went and used his computer. You'd think it'd be difficult to hack into a police database, but I swear my dad is making it easy for me. Like who makes their password 'password'?" Lydia cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows at him, urging him to move on. "Yeah, yeah, I'm getting there. So I used the time to look up our little orphan Annie and found-"

"Wait," Lydia stopped him. "Did you just make an orphan joke?"

"Not the point, Martin!" He readjusted his jacket and made that face – the overly comic one that made Lydia just want to roll her eyes. Or laugh. Depending on the day really. "What I was getting at was that I found him on the database."

"What? You're saying he has a record?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying."

He paused for what seemed like dramatic effect, sliding her the page as he did so.

"He's not in the criminal database." She looked down at the sheet and realized what he was about to say just as he did. "He's a missing person, Lydia."

* * *

"What's wrong with you?"

Lydia didn't look up from her textbook as she waved off the question, the brunette peering at her best friend intently. The events from the evening before still weighed heavily on the redheads mind, and for some reason, she couldn't quite shake the idea that Beacon Hills was no longer a safe place to be. Had life been easier when no one told her anything? When they'd treated her like a bimbo that'd go screaming "Werewolves!" at the top of her lunges? Perhaps it had been, yet at the same time, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could help.

And then other times she wondered if maybe they'd all just gone completely insane.

"Don't give me that, Martin," scolded Allison. "You either tell me what's going on or you can stop mumbling to yourself."

"I wasn't-" Lydia started, and then stopped suddenly, when she realized she wasn't exactly sure _if_ she'd been mumbling to herself or not. In fact, she couldn't even remember which paragraph she'd been reading. "Well, I didn't _mean_ to mumble, anyways."

"You're acting like a nutjob, you know that, right?"

Lydia flinched at the word, but shrugged to seem nonchalant. The last thing she needed were people thinking she was off her rocker again.

"Just a little stressed about this assignment, is all," she responded, taking her purple highlighter and colouring a sentence at random to appear like she was actually doing something. "Like, what kind of sick individual assigns a ten page paper for the end of the week? She didn't even give us a freaking weekend, for God's sake."

"She assigned it last Friday, Lydia," replied Allison, blandly.

"Yeah, well who starts a paper a whole week before it's due?" she asked, not wanting to admit that she'd been slacking off a little too much since the semester had begun. "_Losers_. That's who."

"Right," said her friend slowly, turning away from the redhead with a slight shake of her head.

"I'm just sayin'," commented Lydia to the air.

The rest of the class flew by relatively quickly, Ms. Blake doing her rounds as she checked over each student's progress on the paper, making slight edits as she did so. Lydia got a special kick out of the teacher's comments on her paper – titled Beasts in Pop Culture – when the woman had simply smiled and said she'd picked "a really interesting and relevant topic to today's youth". If only she'd known exactly what kind of beasts really lived amongst the youth today.

Finally, however the bell had rung, signalling the end of the day and the beginning of her entirely free afternoon. Although Lydia had taken on a job as a barista at the local – and relatively popular – coffee house, she found without any extracurriculars most of her days stayed relatively free. Which meant she had taken on the hobby of scouring the internet for wolf-centered mythology or strange animal attacks in the area. And yet, even that, hadn't totally kept her satisfied.

Of course she always had her late night chats with Stiles, but she was finding her daylight hours a little lacking. After all, she barely made eye contact with the awkward boy during school, let alone talked to him when they weren't in the weirdly comforting confines of the pet hospital.

Which was why, after she'd told Allison she already had a ride, that she made her way out to the parking lot, her plan already in motion.

"Hey, Lydia," said Scott as she approached the blue beat up Jeep, staring at her like she was some foreign species. "Allison's not here-"

"Can I get a ride?" she interrupted, staring at Stiles, who was standing frozen halfway between opening the driver's door and throwing his bag in the back.

"Er… um…" he stumbled over his words as she stared at him, Scott throwing him looks off to the side. "Yeah… I mean, _yeah_. For sure."

He nearly fell over himself as he comically shut his own door and rushed to the other side of the jeep, opening the door and gesturing her into the seat.

"Thanks," she said stiffly, still keeping her face relatively blank.

"Wait, what about lacrosse practice," said Scott to a flustered Stiles, who didn't seem to be paying much attention as he flung himself into the driver's seat. "You said you'd come with me to-"

"Scott- Yeah- Lacrosse-Thursday… or something…"

And with that the Jeep revved to life and with a quick flash of a smile, Stiles had launched it out of the parking lot, leaving his best friend behind and bewildered.

* * *

His hand twitched on the wheel as they passed house after house, sweat starting to stick to his palms. The nervousness, he swore, permeated off of him in waves – most likely visible to the naked eye like heat coming off a barbecue. He wanted to seem casual and cool, like nothing in the world affected him. Like he would guess Jackson Whitemore acted, like he imagined every other guy who'd ever caught Lydia Martin's _attention_ acted. And yet, with her arm a mere three inches from his, all he could think about was the fact he was breathing really heavy, and that certainly, she could smell the teenage hormones seeping through his clothes.

"You missed the turn," she spoke up, making him accidently plant his foot a little too hard on the accelerator.

"What?" he asked, as he slowed down back to the speed limit.

"I _said_, you missed the turn," she repeated, her face looking slightly annoyed.

"Huh? Oh, don't you live on Crestview?" he asked, ignoring the fact that he probably shouldn't have made it obvious that he knew where she lived.

"I never said I needed a ride home," she retorted, looking ahead and seemingly ignoring his perplexed look.

"Oh… errr… then where are you going?"

"_We_," she emphasized, finally looking over at him, "are going to your house."

That was all he needed to spin the car around – he'd thank Beacon Hills crummy Tourism Agency later that there wasn't a car in sight – and gun it back to his house, a dopey look plastered on his face.

* * *

**AN- Hope you all liked it! This is my first Teen Wolf fic, so reviews are very much encouraged :) I started writing this after the first episode of season three, so some of this obviously isn't canon anymore, but I may or may not use canon ideas as they appear in the season in this story (virgin sacrifices perhaps?). Anyways, review, follow, favourite, etc! Love you all ;) **


	2. Chapter 2

**Caged**

**The Young and the Frightening**

* * *

When he pulled the key from the ignition, he swore the loss of engine noise made the beating of his heart ten times louder. He could literarily feel his pulse running at a rampant pace, and had his company been of the lycanthropic type, he was sure any attempt at appearing nonchalant was completely blown.

"So, this is my place," he said with a little nod of the head, pressing his lips together in a straight line.

"I know what you're house looks like, Stiles," Lydia replied, shooting him a look before pushing open her door and sliding out. "In case you've forgotten, I have been here before."

"Right," he mumbled as he stumbled out of his car, the strap of his backpack getting stuck on the door as he tried to wrench it from the backseat, causing him to lose his balance a little.

Lydia was already standing in front of the door ahead of him and he hurried to catch up, swinging his bag over his shoulder as he did.

"Hey, wait. My dad might be-"

But before he could say much else, he was distracted by the redhead who was now busying herself by inspecting the window sill, running her fingers over the edge as if looking for something. He watched as she scrunched up her face and moved on to the little ceramic toad they had placed next to the door, lifting up and smiling when she found what she was looking for.

"Okay that's kinda frightening," he muttered as the redhead took the key she'd found under the toad and placed it into the keyhole, as if it was no big deal. As if that was a totally normal thing to do.

"Are you coming?" she asked over her shoulder, a singular eyebrow raised at him.

"Oh-yup. Sure."

He shook his head in disbelief but followed her anyways into his house, trying not to dwell to long on the fact that Lydia Martin was standing in his foyer right now.

"So do you have a lot of experience breaking and entering? Or do you just save that for close friends?" He threw his bag on the ground next to the door, barely able to keep up as Lydia made her way into the kitchen, disappearing behind the wall.

"Friends already, are we?" she called and he heard the fridge open as she spoke. "A couple late night chats under the dim lighting of the pet hospital doesn't make us BFFs, Stilinski."

"No, of course not," he muttered under his breath as he entered the kitchen to find Lydia pouring herself a glass of cranberry juice. "Oh go on, help yourself."

"Funny." She grimaced at him before taking a long drag of her drink and smiling, as if satisfied.

"You really have a knack for making yourself at home, huh?"

"I'm a multi-talented person," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

The two of them stood like that - across from each with only the kitchen island between them –for some time before either of them thought to say anything. Stiles just couldn't keep himself from staring at her – as if she might just dissolve into nothing at the slightest movement. He still wasn't quite sure if he hadn't fallen asleep in fourth period chemistry and this was just a strange dream induced by today's lunch meat surprise.

"Anyways," she spoke, breaking the silence, "we've got things to do."

Stiles simply rose an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to continue.

When she didn't, he simply sighed.

"Care to fill me in, Lydia?"

"Certainly."

She moved with such ease, that he almost forgot that she was guest here. If he hadn't known better, he would have said she knew the house like the back of her hand. In fact, she was leading _him_, and yet, it felt strangely normal.

"You see, _Stilinski_," he flinched, "I know lately you and all your wolfy little friends have been really good about keeping me in the know. But I'm not stupid. I know you guys hide all the important stuff from me because of what happened last year. Believe it or not, I'm not going to go bat shit crazy again and end up wandering the woods nude. Been there done that, okay?" She took a deep breath here, but continued swiftly in a flurry of words. "What I want from you, Stiles, is to cut the bullshit. No more of these useless tasks you all throw at me. I'm capable of more than tracking down a seventeen year old boy. I could help, dammit!" She was fuming now, smoke billowing from her ears. "Now, if you would please be so kind as to tell me everything you know."

They'd made their way into the living room, but now Lydia turned to Stiles her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed over her chest. She looked like she'd practiced that speech in front of the mirror, and by the defiant look flashing in her eyes, it appeared she'd liked the outcome.

"I've told you everything, Lydia-"

"Stop _lying_, Stiles!"

This time he nearly jumped, taken completely aback by the sheer power that such a small person had produced. Her cheeks were flaming red and he could swear her hands shook as she clenched them at her sides. Stiles had never been so frightened of someone in his entire life. Certainly not of anyone half his height.

"Lydia," he said, harsher this time so she wouldn't interrupt. "I swear to God, I have told you everything I know. There's nothing I'm holding back-"

"Oh, _please_-"

"Lydia, _stop_."

He'd closed the distance between them without even really meaning to, and his hands were firmly planted on her shoulders. He stared into her eyes, searching them to make sure she was done interrupting.

"Good, now if you would please just listen for once in your life, that'd be great."

He let his hands drop from her shoulders and backed away a step, ignoring the fact that she ducked her head down out of what he assumed must be embarrassment. Although knowing Lydia Martin, it was probably something else entirely.

"I have been completely honest with you since the beginning of the summer," he began. "I saw the way you handled the Jackson scenario, the way you _saved_ him, Lydia. All of us were clueless as to what to do, but you weren't. You were fearless. You didn't even know all of what was going on and you still stuck your neck out to save someone's life. Someone who'd been treated you like shit all year, in fact. If anything, I think you're way more capable of handling this shit than then the rest of us misfits."

He internally gave himself a pat on the back as a smile crept its way unto Lydia's face. That was a start, at least.

"On top of that, I owe you my sanity over the past few months," he said, honestly. "If not for you, I'd be all freaking alone with all these dimwitted wolves running around thinking the one and only solution to every problem is to rips its head off. So, _Lydia_, I promise you I am not lying. Understood?"

She seemed to ponder the question for a while, looking at him skeptically. He honestly believed everything he'd said, it was a simple fact that he needed more people like Lydia around. Even Allison, who'd originally been his only human ally, was some badass hunter now, leaving him to be all alone in his average fragile ways. But he knew he and Lydia could help the cause, that they weren't useless just because they couldn't grow fangs. They were human yes, but they had more brains than the entire wolf pack put together. Or at least Stiles liked to tell himself that.

Finally, after a pause that seemed to last a lifetime, her eyes lifted to meet his and she smiled faintly.

"All right, I believe you."

He grinned wide and nodded, stepping backwards towards the front door where he'd left his backpack.

"Good, cuz I have something to show you."

* * *

Lydia almost didn't believe how she was acting. Never before in her life could she remember losing this much control. The one thing she knew for certain about herself – and she assumed most of the people around her knew as well – was that Lydia Martin was _always_ in control. Whether it was a group project in chemistry or a dirty hookup in Stephanie Meyer's parents master bathroom, she never lost control.

And yet, Stiles brought a weird feeling out of her. Almost like she needn't be afraid to express herself, and that maybe, just maybe, she could trust him to take control of the situation.

Maybe.

"So you think this could be him?" she asked as she scanned the school transcript he'd handed her, reading the name Jordan Rogers at the top of the form.

"Yeah. I had to channel my inner Kevin Bacon, but yeah. I think it's him," he said confident. "See I discovered a news article about Victoria Hale in some small town paper that I guess they grew up in or something. She and a close friend, Regina Phillips, had won some big doubles tennis match. Pretty much local heroes at the age of fifteen.

"So I figured it wouldn't hurt to look this Regina chick up. Maybe she could tell us something about Victoria. Maybe even about Jordan." He paused to search a pile of articles on his bed which he'd dumped there from his backpack. They'd found their way up to his bedroom eventually, figuring his dad wouldn't come barging in if he kept his door closed. "But instead, I found this."

She took the photocopy from him and stared down at the black and white picture. It was one of those pictures of a family in some exotic location with the newspaper held in their hands that the paper published in their travel section. The older woman – Lydia assumed this was Regina Phillips – looked thin and fit, the dark dress she was wearing falling over her like a garbage bag. She was smiling casually, a hand held above her eyes to block the sun that was seemingly beating on her face. Her other hand rested on the tiny shoulders of a young boy, probably half the size of the woman to his right. He had floppy dark hair – brown, she assumed, though it looked just a muggy grey – that fell into his eyes and made him look like he was permanently squinting. He was wearing a button up short sleeve with a tacky flower print and cargo shorts: the clothes of a well-dressed tourist. He looked thrilled at something behind his mother, because he wasn't looking at the camera and instead was laughing at something Lydia couldn't see.

For a moment, all she could think was she couldn't even remember that last time she and her parents had taken a photo together. Let alone the last time they'd all smiled together like that.

"You see what I see?"

She jumped as Stiles spoke and looked again at the photo, pushing her selfish thoughts away.

"What is it?" she asked, still only seeing a mother and son, happy and on vacation.

"Read the caption."

She nodded and glanced below the picture. The words were faded and hard to read, but eventually she made out the words:

_Regina Phillips and son, Jordan, in Bermuda for vacation._

"And son, Jordan," she repeated under her breath, in awe. "This is brilliant, Stiles!" she exclaimed, louder this time. "He's living with Regina, of _course_ he is."

She looked up at him and smiled wide when she saw the blush that had crept onto his face. Maybe she still had control after all.

"Really, Stiles. You're amazing at this," she said, honestly. "You should warn your dad before you snag the job right from under him."

He smiled at her, and for a moment, Lydia forgot about what they were doing. Sometimes she caught herself feeling so at ease with Stiles, that it scared the living hell out of her. For once, she had a true friend. Not one who was looking to be popular or looking to get their own red designer handbag, but truly there because they wanted to spend time with her. Sure she had Allison, who without a doubt was her best friend through and through, but now with all the hunting-is-my-family's-one-purpose stuff going on, she didn't have much time left for Lydia.

"Thanks. I'll tell him that," he replied, clearing his throat to change the subject. "Anyways, I looked her up online, and I could only really get where she worked. But, the town isn't too far away, maybe like a couple hours drive or something? So I'll go over there tomorrow and see what I can-"

"You're going alone?"

"-find… wait. What? Oh, yeah. I guess. That was the plan."

Lydia raised her eyebrows at him, something she'd grown accustomed to doing around Stiles it seemed.

"We'll leave at 8am sharp. You'll pick me up from my house. Don't be late."

And with that she got up from the bed and marched from the room, satisfied with the days happenings. Now all she had to do was think of what she'd tell her parents.

* * *

**AN-** Really short I know! Sorry, but I really wanted to get it out there because of all the awesome support I've been getting! Also, sorry for the long wait. I'm currently in England of all places and both time and wifi has been a little scarce. Anyways, hope you enjoyed and watch out for new chapters!


	3. Chapter 3

**Caged**

**Number One With A Bullet**

* * *

Stiles checked the time on his dash once more, worried that maybe he'd gotten the time wrong or something. Hadn't she said eight? She had to have had, he'd only repeated it to himself a million times over while lying in bed last night. He may have done some stupid things in his lifetime, but he was smart enough to know that you are not late for Lydia Martin.

But yet his digital clock flashed 7:59 and still there was no sign of the redhead. He'd been sitting with the engine cut in her driveway since quarter to, expecting the anal person that she was to be waiting for him when he got there, glaring at him with those _eyes_.

Sometimes he had nightmares of those eyes.

Anxious, he began tapping the tune to an old country song his dad used to love, onto his wheel. Without noticing it much, the rhythm had turned itself into Back in Black by ACDC and soon he was thrashing his head up and down, singing – or rather yelling he supposed – the lyrics to the empty car.

"Yeah I'm Back in Blaaaaa-"

Just as he threw his head down once more to finish the chorus, a rapping sounded on his window, nearly throwing himself into the roof with surprise. Holding a hand to his head, he slowly turned his head to see who'd interrupted him, a sheepish look already plastered to his face.

As he expected, Lydia Martin, dressed in what Stiles thought looked like a dress made of diamonds, stood outside his car with arms crossed over her chest, staring blandly at him.

Smiling awkwardly, he cranked the window open and leaned his head out the window a little, nodding a little to himself.

"I'm just gonna go out there and say it," he began, still nodding in his awkward way. "That wasn't one of my finer moments."

"Clearly."

And that was all she said before she pulled her bag – it looked expensive to Stiles, and knowing her, he guessed it was – further up her shoulder and strode over the passenger side, her seven inch heels clacking against the concrete.

"Smooth," he muttered to himself as he turned the keys in the ignition, his jeep puttering to life.

"What was that?" Lydia asked as she slid into her seat beside him, placing her purse gingerly on her lap.

"What was what?"

He flicked his head over his shoulder as he moved the car into reverse, backing out of her driveway.

"You said something," she reiterated, her eyes studying him with obvious annoyance.

He stopped and stared back at her, flipping the car to drive. "No, I didn't," he lied, pretending to be nonchalant as he pressed his foot against the gas, leaving her house behind them.

"Yes, you _did_."

He glanced at her quickly, not surprised to see frustration creeping up her face.

"Nope. Don't think I did," he answered glibly, focusing on the road ahead of him.

She "harrumphed", but didn't say another word, although he saw her shake her head in his peripheral vision and swore he heard her mutter something that rhymed with "stickhead".

He couldn't help but smirk to himself as they turned onto to the highway, passing the big green sign that read:

_LEAVING BEACON HILLS. THANK YOU FOR VISITING._

* * *

The town, Lydia noticed, was freakishly similar to Beacon Hills. The shops were small and quaint, some of them a little rundown, but all paneled with the same white coated wood that you found back home. They were just finding their way through Mainstreet, shops flashing by with big black letters announcing "Launderette", "Chris' Coffee", "New Imports", and more. She was surprised to see they even had a tall Starbucks, its fresh looking insignia sticking out on the street like a sore thumb.

"The address I found says it should be around here someplace," Stiles announced as he leaned forward in the driver's seat, squinting at the shop signs.

"What's the name of the place?"

Stiles slowed the car as they arrived on a cross walk, letting an old man with a sour face, and his equally as old and sour looking dog, cross.

"She owns a video rental store called 'Double Fastforward'," he answered, rolling on as the man finally made his way to the other side. "Beats me how she managed to keep a video rental store in business this long, but she must be doing something right."

Lydia nodded to herself and took a sip of her latte. They'd stopped at a gas station on the way here, and although she was desperate for something to keep her awake, she regretted it the moment the cheap coffee grinds began swirling unpleasantly in her stomach. They weaved around a corner as the street curved towards the east, revealing another line of shops – painted, of course, in white.

"There," she said, pointing to the right side of the road a little ways down. "See the sign shaped like a VHS?"

Stiles raised his eyebrows with a slight smile crossing his lips.

"What, this town never heard of DVDs?" He laughed to himself, but Lydia simply shrugged.

"Maybe it's vintage," she replied as Stiles pulled into a spot in front of the store front behind a nice black Mercedes. For a moment Lydia wondered who in this small town could afford a car so nice.

"I don't think videos work the same way as clothes, Lydia."

She simply shot him a look and dropped out of the jeep, pulling her purse over her shoulder and smoothing out her skin tight sequined dress as her heels hit the pavement. She frowned a little at the heat, a muggy grossness washing over her as Stiles approached from the other side.

"Not exactly the nicest of days," he said, glancing up at the graying sky.

"Well let's get this show on the road."

With that she spun on her heels and marched towards the door, stopping before heading in as she waited for Stiles to catch up. He stared at her as he stopped next to her, a curious expression on his face.

"Aren't you going in?"

She lifted a single eyebrow at him and nodded towards the door, a hand on her waist and an impatient look on her face.

Stiles looked between her and the door for a couple minutes.

"Oh, you can't be seri-"

He huffed but opened the door anyways, shaking his head as Lydia flashed him a grateful – and half mocking – smile as she walked into the store, the bell chiming as Stiles followed her and let the door swing shut behind him.

"You know I'm not your personal assistant," he whispered as he tried to keep step with Lydia, who was now marching down the aisles towards the check-out counter at the back of the store. "Lest you forget I was the one who had the idea of coming down here in the first place."

"I was only messing with you, Stiles," she said, with a slight smirk. "Honestly, I thought you'd have a better sense of humour."

"I-" he stopped and simply muttered in frustration, something along the lines of 'humour my ass'.

As Lydia rounded the corner of the HORROR section, the counter finally came into view. As expected, a woman looking in her late 40s leaned over the counter, her nose stuck in a book. Her hair was greying considerably at the roots and her arms looking leathery and dark, but she was unmistakeably the same Regina Phillips from the newspaper photo.

"Excuse me."

Lydia announced herself loudly and firmly, and watched satisfied as Regina's head snapped up, as if enthralled in the paperback she'd been buried in. In her shock, she accidentally knocked over her coffee mug next to her, sending dark liquid across the counter and all over her book.

"Oh dear," she whispered to herself as she pulled the book up with too fingertips, dangling it a foot from herself as it dripped coffee on to the carpet.

Stiles flashed into movement beside Lydia, rushing to help the woman behind the counter.

"Do you have paper towels anywhere?" he asked, concerned.

"Oh yes- Yes, of course. Staff washroom," she answered, seeming to finally snap out of her surprise. "Just that door there."

He followed where she'd nodded and disappeared behind the door.

"Marianne is going to kill me," Regina said, as if to herself. "I told her I'd only borrow the book for a day or two. Now look what I've done."

"I'm sure she'll understand," said Lydia, seeming to surprise Regina as she looked up, most likely forgetting that she was there. She smiled in thanks and nodded quietly.

"Yes, yes. I'm sure she will."

Silence fell over them again as the book continued to drip coffee. Finally, after a moment, Stiles returned huffing and puffing with a mound of paper towels clutched in both his fists.

"Here you go!" The two of them blurred into hectic movement as they sopped up the liquid, stacking paper towel on top of paper towel.

"Thank you," said Regina as she collected the now soaking wet towels and dumped them unceremoniously into the waste bin behind her. Smiling sheepishly. "Sorry about all that. I'm awfully jumpy when I'm reading. Actually, I'm awfully jumpy at all times," she admitted, laughing at herself. "Now, how can I help you? Do you have a video you're looking for?"

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but Lydia cut him off.

"Actually, no. We're here to talk to you, actually-"

But before she could continue, however, the group of them were interrupted from the door behind Regina flying open.

"Hey, Reg, I heard a commotion-" the boy who entered stopped speaking almost immediately, seeming to jump on the unfinished-sentence bandwagon, and simply stared at the four of them.

But as he stood staring at them, Lydia stood enraptured in him.

He had silky black hair that hung just below his ears, wrapping around them like shiny coal-stained snakes. He was tall – taller than any teenage boy Lydia thought she'd ever met. He was skinny too, which made her think of Peter Hale's younger self that she'd seen throughout last year. He had that same pale, stark complexion, his face all angles and cheekbones. While as she'd once thought herself only attracted to boy's like Jackson - jocks with chiseled abs and strong arms to hold her in - she felt herself suddenly drawn to this boy. His eyes, a kind of silvery frost, seemed to look right through her, as if they could see her every cell individually, pulling her apart like a cheese string.

Releasing her breath in one quick sigh – a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding – she glanced at Stiles, to see if he was as shocked by the boy's appearance as she was. Instead, she found him looking at her with an odd look on his face, one she couldn't quite place.

Shrugging it off, she glanced back at Regina and the boy.

"Oh it was nothing," said Regina, chuckling at herself. "Just a little accident. You know me."

He smiled at her as if that was enough to ease his worry and turned his attention back to Lydia and Stiles.

"Hi there," he said with a smile that made a shiver run down Lydia's back. "I'm Jordan. And this is my mother."

At the mention of his name, both Lydia and Stiles glanced at one another knowingly.

"What?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed. "What happened there?"

Stiles and Lydia looked at each other for a moment longer, silently confirming what they both were thinking.

"It's just," began Stiles, "that we finally found who we were looking for."

* * *

It had been a long moment before anyone said anything. Stiles had gone on to explain that they knew who the two of them were, that they knew Regina was really his mother. After a couple minutes of a defensive Regina, who claimed she had no clue what they were talking about and for them to say such a thing was truly offensive, Stiles went on to talk about how they knew of the Hale family. He explained how he'd found them through Victoria's obituary, how he knew Derek and how Peter had risen from the dead.

As his story went on, Stiles could feel a headache beginning to form in his temple. It was frightening how deranged and confusing their lives had gotten, and to say it aloud… Well, it was almost too much to handle.

"I don't get it, though," said Jordan as Stiles ended the last bit of the story, having explained that Beacon Hills was being rampaged by an alpha pack. "Why come find me? What help will I have against alphas?"

"Well, to be honest I hadn't really been looking for you at first," said Stiles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Initially I'd just been fed up with everything. Having not found anything that'd help us defeat a pack of super werewolves. But when I came across the article about the Hale fire in Deaton's office, I decided it couldn't hurt to have a look. And then, I guess, all the pieces kinda fell together."

He saw Lydia glance at him from the corner of his eye, and momentarily, wondered what she was thinking.

"You see, Derek's been completely out of it lately," he continued. "Peter's back, of course, bringing up all of Derek's worst memories. Believe it or not, it is possible for him to get even moodier than he already is."

Lydia coughed into her fist at this, although he thought he might have heard a snicker behind the cough.

"So I figured it might be beneficial for him to have all the family around he can. " Lydia scrunched up her face at this, but Stiles ignored it. He hadn't told her of this plan, not because he didn't want her to know, but because he was making it up as he went. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure why he'd been so gung ho on finding Jordan, and now that he was standing in front of the boy with Lydia looking at him like _that_, he kind of wished he hadn't found him at all. "On top of that, we could use more werewolves if we're going to fight off the alphas."

_Actually, that's exactly what we _don't_ need,_ he thought, but kept it to himself. For some reason, a pit in his stomach was forming, but he reminded himself that he hadn't figured this out for nothing. If anything, finding Jordan was better than sitting around feeling sorry for themselves.

"All right," said Jordan slowly, as if tasting the words. He seemed uncertain of the two, an innocent and almost – Stiles thought with confusion as he never imagined a Hale could show such an emotion – frightened look on his face. "So you want me to come back to Beacon Hills?"

"Yeah, pretty much," replied Stiles, nodding. "You could even join the pack. An honorary member of sorts. Maybe help Derek and Peter find out what's-"

"He can't do that."

The three of them all turned their heads toward Regina, who hadn't spoken for at least the last half hour but whose words cut through the conversation and stopped it almost immediately. She had a fierce look on her face and had her arms pressed tightly against her chest, making her look pretty near terrifying in Stiles' eyes.

"And why not?" Lydia asked, mirroring Regina's anger.

When Regina said nothing in response and simply glared at the unknowing Lydia, Jordan spoke up.

"Mother," he began, his eyes on Regina but speaking to Stiles and Lydia, "thinks I won't be welcome."

"Won't be welcome?" asked Stiles incredulously. "But we're _inviting _you."

"That Hale boy-" began his mother, furious. But Jordan waved her off and she fell silent again.

"It's hardly any worry," he said firmly, ignoring his mother's protests in the background. "She just gets nervous with me leaving. Hasn't been alone in years."

"So you'll come?" asked Lydia, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. "You'll come back with us to Beacon Hills?"

"Of course," he replied, with a wide smile and a wink in Lydia's direction. "But I'll have to pack a bag first."

* * *

**AN-** So finally the real story begins! Obviously I started writing this before Cora was introduced, so I decided just to stick with my original outline and ignore new canon that's come about in the last 7 episodes or so. You will see me bring in some of the other stories – mainly Scott's and Derek's plotlines – from the actual show, just mostly to keep a timeline (and because Jeff is awesome and I his plots are already so fantastic). Anyways I hope you all like where I'm going with this! Obviously, as you can probably tell, this isn't going to be a very fluffy fic (or very long for that matter). Because what's the fun in that? But if you're a Stydia lover like myself, I hope you enjoy (:


	4. Chapter 4

**Caged**

**Autumn Leaves**

* * *

Lydia woke with a start, the lingering memories of the nightmare sticking to her skin like sweat. She wanted to scream, but no sound escaped her mouth, and instead she found herself draped over the side of her bed, dry heaving at the carpet. Her forehead felt clammy and when she reached up to lay a hand over it, she found her face radiating an intense heat. She felt sick, but without anything in her stomach, she simply lied there, hunched over herself, feeling like the room was spinning.

The dream hadn't been particularly scary, but the clarity and vividness of it all chilled her to the bone. It had started with her lying, as she did now, in the middle of a night covered field. Tall strands of wheat stuck up all around her, shading her from the moon's light. However, despite the moon's cover, flickers of light seemed to peak through the wheat, a red-orangy glow illuminating the ground before her.

However, the ground wasn't at all like she'd expect it to be.

Instead of brown farmer's soil, it was instead a sticky black substance, clinging to her hands and feet like tar. She opened her mouth to scream, but before a sound could escape her, hands from all directions grabbed at her throat and arms, as if she was being pulled back into a crowd. After one last tug, she found herself sprawled out on the ground again, the black tar gone and the hands seeming to have disappeared along with it.

At this point, she could feel the fear creeping up on her from the inside out. Just as she felt her eyes threatening to open – her conscious mind pulling her from her sleep – Lydia saw a shadow poke out from between the strands. Though the man's body was completely black – in fact, he reminded her now of the shadow boy from Peter Pan; not boy or man: just shadow – an eerie and sickening blindingly white smile split his face, lighting the scenery to a blank white.

Even awake now, she could still see bright dots across her vision from the shadow man's smile. When she'd been younger, she'd had nightmares all the time. Her mother had even taken her to a doctor once, but all he'd done was told them not to let her have chocolate before bed. But even that didn't work, and the nightmares continued until she was around ten years old. However, after a while, they seemed to fade. Although, every once and a while, as last night, she would get them again. Worse than they'd ever been and leaving her breathless like a punch to the stomach.

She rolled over in her sheets, the nausea starting to ebb away. She clamped her eyes shut against the pain in her head and begged her body to let her fall away to sleep, maybe a couple more hours would make her feel better.

But alas, as she felt her body relax and she managed to stretch out her legs under the covers, a blaring sound came from her bed side table.

She groaned and flipped over, slamming her hand over her fuzzy pink alarm clock and nearly acted on her desire to throw the damn thing across the room.

Nevertheless, she rose from her bed, rubbing her eyes as she made her way to her bathroom.

It took her only half an hour – a personal record she noted – to get herself dressed and did up for the day. She glanced at herself once in her full length mirror, admiring her green blazer and simple black dress. Not one of her most shocking of outfits, but she felt satisfied that it'd still be the most fashion forward thing anyone would find in Beacon Hills. Not that she had much competition on that front.

"Miss Martin?" came a voice from the other side of her door. "Miss Martin? Are you awake?"

"Yes, Josephine, I'm coming out now!" she replied to their housekeeper, grabbing her black purse before swinging open the door and smiling at the short and honest looking woman on the other side.

"Oh, you look very _pretty_ today, Miss Martin. Very pretty."

Lydia smiled, not being able to help it. Having two lawyers as parents tended to mean you grew to love the housekeepers. Luckily, Josephine had been around since she was about five, and Lydia could honestly say that she was about the kindest person she'd ever met in her entire life.

"Thank you, Josephine. I'm going to school now, are there still some apples left that I can have for breakfast?"

"Oh yes. Plenty. I also laid out some of those croissants you like so much," she said quickly, smiling her wide smile. "Your friend's down there now."

"Friend?" she asked, almost forgetting.

Yesterday evening when they'd arrived back in Beacon Hills, Stiles and Lydia had had to make a swift decision on where to keep Jordan. They couldn't very well just let him stroll around the town, knowing full well that Derek and Peter would get word eventually. Jordan had made only one thing clear since they met him: he did not want to see the Hales. Though it seemed a little suspicious to Lydia, she didn't question it, just glad that they'd finally found him. The Hales were a strange bunch, and from what she'd learned, they seemed to have ten times more drama than any other normal family. So, if she was Jordan, she probably wouldn't want to bug them earlier.

What she wasn't totally sure about, however, was how they were going to utilise him. Stiles was adamant that the boy had to be of some use to them, if not just to bring fresh eyes to the situation. But Lydia wasn't too sure. Nonetheless, she offered him a spot on her couch, knowing that her parents were away for the next two weeks in New York, some sort of business trip that they were too lazy to explain to her.

"Oh, right. Yes, my friend," she said, shaking her head at her momentary forgetfulness. "Thanks Josephine."

She could already smell the freshly baked goods before she'd even made it to the kitchen, and she found herself almost salivating as she approached.

"Morning, Red."

Lydia jumped and held a shaky hand to her chest as she whirled to see Jordan behind her, his thin model-esque frame leaning against the kitchen counter. His pitch black hair was slightly damp and hung in front of his eyes in messy tendrils. His hair, however, didn't hide his smirk at her surprise, laughter seeming to shine in his eyes.

"Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you," he said simply, pushing off of the counter and walking towards her.

"It's fine," she said, straightening out and flashing him a confident look. "I'm just not accustomed to creepy strangers lurking in the shadows of my kitchen, is all."

"Creepy stranger? Ouch," he said, holding a hand to his heart in mock hurt. "I at least thought we were amicable acquaintances at this point."

She simply shrugged at him and made for the fridge, pulling it open to dig around for an apple.

"Give it a couple hours," she said between bites and slamming the fridge door behind her, "and maybe I'll reconsider."

"I'll be waiting patiently." The way he said it sent a shiver through her spine, and for a moment she wondered what was wrong with her. It wasn't like she'd never seen an attractive boy before. In fact, just last year she'd spent the summer in Paris where she'd dated a boy that was ten times prettier than Jordan, and in fact, he was an actual model. So whatever was wrong with her, it couldn't possibly be that she was _attracted_ to this boy… right?

"So, what's on the agenda today?" she asked, taking a seat on one of the kitchen stools as she reached for a croissant on the island.

"Well," he began, standing across the counter from her, "Stiles has a pile of files he wants me to look over. He thinks I might recognize something, I guess. Though I hardly think I'd know anything more than Derek would."

"That's the thing though," she said after she finished chewing. "Derek has been a little… _preoccupied_. We're not entirely sure what's up with him, but he's been pretty much M.I.A. these past couple weeks. And plus, he hardly gives me and Stiles the time of day, let alone lets us question him."

He seemed to ponder this for a second before speaking up.

"Then why are you two even doing all this?" he asked, bluntly.

Her eyes narrowed at this, not quite understanding. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like," – the use of the place holder surprised her for a second, as if it seemed forced in his voice, too casual for someone so elegant and mysterious – "what's the _point_? If the pack doesn't want your help, why not just let them handle it?"

"Because it's not just about the pack anymore," she replied simply, staring blankly at him. "If we want to protect ourselves from what's out there, we can't count on anyone else to do it. We're all out for ourselves in this war, and if we're not careful, we might be next."

"That's a lot of pressure for a high school girl," he said, seeming unconvinced.

"Well maybe I'm not your ordinary high school girl." She grinned and swung off her stool, grabbing her bag as she did so. "Which reminds me, I have chemistry first period, so I should get going. Try not to burn down the house while I'm gone, all right?"

He simply smiled and nodded as she left him behind, her heels clacking as she let the door swing closed behind her.

* * *

Stiles glanced up at the clock, but not a minute had passed since he'd last checked. What he desperately wanted was the school day to finally be over, so that maybe he could return to his research before his dad got home. Most importantly, he needed to talk to Jordan. If anything, he hoped the boy could shed some light on why the alpha pack was so set on getting Derek. There had to be some history there, right? Something between Deucalion and the Hales that made him so intent on destroying all of Beacon Hills just to get what he wanted? Surely –

"Stiles!"

He leapt from his seat and accidentally knocked his textbook to the ground. He scrambled to pick it up and simply grimaced at Miss Blake, muttering his apologies before turning to the voice that had sent him such a shock.

"_What?_" he whispered to Scott who was looking at him as if he'd grown an extra head.

"What's with you lately?" his friend asked in a hushed voice, glancing at Miss Blake to make sure she was distracted by another student. "I don't think I've ever seen you zone out like that."

"Yeah, well, I guess I'm a little on edge," he muttered back, glaring at his friend. "You know, with all these super-wolves running around, I think I've warranted a little bit of a freak-out."

"You're not the only one dealing with this," he said back, loud enough that the girl in front of Stiles turned to glare at the two of them. Scott continued, quieter this time. "We're all scared."

"Really? I wouldn't know. _Because no one tells me anything._"

Scott flinched as if the words were sharp, and for a minute, Stiles regretted what he'd said. He knew it was hard on Scott, balancing both Derek's pack and his friends. But he couldn't help but feel like he was slowly being replaced, a certain scarf clad beta taking his place.

"I'm trying here, Stiles," he responded, sounding tired now. "I swear I'm trying. But there's only so much I can do to protect everyone I love."

"Who says I need protecting?" he asked, turning to look straight ahead at the chalk board. "I can protect myself."

"Really? You think so?" he asked, his tone growing harsher by the minute. "Was that what you were doing yesterday, then? Protecting yourself?"

Stiles glanced at his friend, but didn't hold eye contact for very long.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, growing nervous.

"It means, that you keep complaining that no one fills you in, but I don't remember you telling me that you weren't coming to school yesterday," he responded simply. "And don't pretend you were sick. I already talked to your dad. As far as he's aware you were at school."

Stiles simply stared down at his desk, drilling a hole into the wood. This was the tricky part. He and Lydia had decided not to involve Derek, but in turn, that meant not involving Scott. Not because Stiles didn't trust his friend, but because he knew Scott would have a hard time keeping something like this from Derek. He was always aiming to do what was right, but in this case, Stiles thought that might not be exactly what would _help_. He needed Jordan's trust, and telling Scott what he was up to yesterday, would not help that at all.

"It's nothing," he said, trying to spin some sort of story in his head. "I was just… with Lydia." He avoided eye contact as he watched Miss Blake write something on the blackboard. "Field trip."

Scott looked at him for a few seconds, silent.

"You were with… _Lydia_?" he asked, over pronouncing each word in disbelief.

"Yeah, she wanted to get out of town," he shrugged, "you know, get away from all this wolfy business for a while."

He still seemed unconvinced, but perhaps the absurdity of the lie helped, because he looked as if he was giving into it.

"All right," he said, spinning around to face the front as well. "Just let me know next time, kay?"

Stiles nodded to himself and glanced back at the clock. Just like every time he was forced to lie to his father, his stomach curled at the thought of not being honest with his best friend. But it was for the best. Stiles was only doing what was right to protect himself and his friends. Jordan was the key. He had to be. If he wasn't… Well, all the lies would be for nothing.

And Stiles couldn't accept that.

* * *

A cool breeze shook the trees that late Thursday night, blowing autumn leaves into the path of the young girl that steadily made her way down the street under the hang of the night's darkness. She had a dark sweater wrapped tightly around her shoulders, hugging it to herself for warmth. Two white headphones were stuck into her ears, blocking her out from the rest of the world. If you were to stand next to her, you could just barely hear the beat of a heavy dub step song pounding at her eardrums, so loud she probably couldn't even hear herself think.

But more importantly, she couldn't even hear the gentle footsteps behind her.

The night seemed calm, to a deaf witness at least, and as she rounded the corner onto Cromwell Av., it probably seemed like nothing was amiss at all. The lights in front of her shone brightly onto the sidewalk, some of the houses passing her even still lit by the night owls inside. A cat scurried across her path, but it seemed harmless enough, disappearing behind a nice white picket fence across the street. She could even, from this point, see her house in the distance, that ugly red gnome that her mother had bought from the corner store illuminated under their porch light.

She even quickened her step as she approached, loosening the grip on her sweater as the thought of her warm blankets enveloped her. But before she could even cross the road, maybe at least to meet her fate on familiar ground, hands grabbed at her throat from behind. The street lamp above her puttered out and her muffled screams were swallowed by the darkness.

The scene having past, the street returned to the eerie calm it had taken on before. The cool breeze pushing the autumn leaves across the pavement.

* * *

**AN-** So what'd you think? Still interested? Just want to say a HUGE thank you to all the people who have reviewed. You guys are super amazing and I thank you so much for your support :) For those of you who have followed, favourited, or are just reading along and pushing up that view count, I love you all just as much! Nothing makes this more worth it than knowing someone out there is actually reading it. So I want to know what you guys think? What's going to happen next? What do you _want_ to happen next? Any predictions? Critiques? Wishes? Review and let me know!


	5. Chapter 5

**AN-** Don't usually say anything before the chapter, but I thought I'd mention that I listened to a really good Stydia mix on 8tracks called "I Know It's Always Been There – Stiles/Lydia" while I wrote this so if you want something to listen to while you read, I highly recommend it.

* * *

**Caged**

**Girl in the 'Burbs**

* * *

"So… this isn't awkward or anything."

Lydia flashed Stiles a glare, but he only made a face at her and stayed silent. They'd been sitting here – well Jordan and Lydia were sitting, Stiles was standing by the door, planning his getaway plan silently in his head – for about half an hour now, all staring at their hands in a stifling silence. Occasionally Lydia would offer a lame excuse to run to the kitchen: to get them water, to fetch some cookies from the cupboard, to make sure she hadn't left the oven on. But still, even with the attempts at small talk Stiles attempted, it didn't seem like Jordan was about to offer any information on his own.

"Sorry, he can be a bit-" Lydia started, flashing a look at him while she pondered how to finish the sentence, "-_blunt_."

Stiles snorted into his fist but managed to squash the rest of his laughter when Lydia's eyes narrowed again, instead choosing to nod in apology.

"It's all right," said Jordan, smiling in his easy going way. "He's right. It is a little… uncomfortable?"

"That's using the term loosely," laughed Stiles awkwardly, attempting a smile at Jordan. Though most of the cells in Stiles' body screamed at him not to like this guy, he couldn't deny that Jordan was an all right guy. In fact, in a different scenario, he figured they could probably be friends. Though he shared his looks with Peter, he seemed to lose some of the overbearing arrogance that his uncle wore like a badge of honour. He was confident, of course, but somehow… less intense. As if he couldn't help that he was charming, it was just a side effect of being a Hale.

Although, now that Stiles thought about the alpha's brooding looks, perhaps Derek was the exception to that gene.

Jordan smiled back and took a drink from his water, the first to touch any of the spread that Lydia had placed on the table between them. This, finally, seemed to break the tension and Stiles stepped forward, standing next to Lydia in her chair across from the black haired boy.

"So… we have a couple questions for you," he began.

Jordan paused and placed his glass back on the tea table, not making eye contact right away.

"I figured as much," he said slowly, finally looking up at Stiles. "What is it that you want to know?"

Lydia and Stiles shared a quick look, as if communicating something with their eyes.

It was Lydia that continued with the thought.

"Well, we'd like to know about Peter and Derek, actually," she said. "Do you know anything about an alpha pack? About why they might be after them?"

Again he fell into silence, as if considering his words wisely. Stiles watched as he picked at his nail beds, eyes set on the floor. He wondered momentarily what he had to nervous about, but the thought left him as finally Jordan began talking.

"Derek and Peter were still young when Deucalion first came to Beacon Hills," he said, his voice grave as the story began. "So obviously, I was barely old enough to remember it. My mom's told me stories, about Deucalion and his pack, how they were like any other. Lots of werewolf packs used to come into Beacon Hills. You see, my aunt – Derek's mom – was pretty big in the area. She was known as a kind of a diplomat of the werewolf race. She was always helping with pack arguments, territorial debates, and most importantly, unruly alphas. Deucalion came to her with an issue with another pack. Ennis' to be exact.

"They'd been butting heads for a while now," his eyes lingered on the window behind Stiles back, making a shiver run up his spine, "but Deucalion was sick of it all. Their latest debate was on who had the right to Waterdale, a town not far from Beacon Hills actually. So Deucalion demanded that the two packs meet here, in Beacon Hills, in front of Talia.

"At first, she was wary to help them. I remember her and my mother whispering all day, they must have been trying to think something up. Some way out of making a decision and having to choose a side, I guess. They knew that if they told either of them they had the right, the other would seek revenge. So they made a decision."

Stiles bit his lip as he thought about all this. He couldn't picture Deucalion – the clinical thinker, the mastermind behind the alpha pack – to be the kind to blindly seek revenge just because he didn't get his way. But, he thought, perhaps a lot had changed over the years.

"Who did they give it to?" asked Lydia, already on the edge of her seat.

"No one," he said plainly.

He didn't continue.

"But… how could they do that? Wouldn't that just get both of them mad?"

He nodded silently before continuing.

"My aunt had hoped that she'd be able to reason with them," he said. "She'd hoped that by giving no one a singular right, the two of them could work out the issue for themselves. After all, the town was barely big enough for _one_ pack; it made more sense for them both to leave the city behind and find a new home. But she made a crucial mistake. She didn't account for the male ego."

Stiles smirked at this, knowing all too well about the male ego, and on top of that, the _alpha werewolf_ ego. Though Derek had pretty much lost all arrogance after the trials he'd suffered over the past few years, he remembered a time when the man was gung-ho on killing Lydia. When he'd gone around creating teenage werewolves left and right, and even mistakenly created Jackson-the-super-douche-Kanima in the process. He could now understand why Deucalion might have scared Talia Hale. Though he seemed almost like a practiced psychopath, he bet that he could kill you with a glance. And add in a stubbornness to get what he deserved – well, Stiles reckoned he wouldn't be on his Christmas card list.

"Deucalion and Ennis did return to Waterdale, but not to fight over the territory. Instead they settled their differences and found a common enemy: Talia. They bound together as friends, and at first, the two packs worked well together. But not too long after, the betas began to hate each other. They fought constantly and rarely agreed on the direction the two packs should head in next. However, over time, Deucalion and Ennis had grown closer, and despite their packs hatred for one another, the two of them weren't done with their alliance."

Jordan ducked his head now, as if ashamed of where the story was going.

"Deucalion was the first to kill," he said gravely. "One of his betas had attacked one of Ennis' while the packs slept and that was the last straw. He pulled the young werewolf's heart from his chest and held it before the two packs, a threat to what would come if they defied him again. But once he'd killed one of them, he couldn't seem to stop. Soon enough, his entire pack was gone and he was left electrified and more powerful than ever before. _The alpha of all alphas_.

"It wasn't hard for him to convince Ennis to follow his lead, and soon enough, Deucalion was traveling the country collecting like-minded alphas to join his cause. Most, had been slighted in some way by the Hales or simply wanted to rise through the ranks, like the twins. But while he was doing all this, his attention had drifted from the Hales and Beacon Hills. And here I can only assume, as my mother's stories end here, but I can only guess at how shocked he was to hear that an Argent - a young female Argent at that - had beat him to it. That the Hales were gone. All of them dead."

The word hung in the air like smog, threatening to tear away at their lungs. Lydia shifted in her chair and Stiles eyes fell on her, feeling suddenly like he needed to pull her away from all this. Hide her from the stories of death and fear, bring her into a world where werewolves didn't exist and people were never scared. He wondered if a place even existed.

"Except Derek and Peter," Stiles said, his eyes sliding slowly away from Lydia.

"Except Derek and Peter," Jordan agreed with a nod.

"And you."

Lydia's voice was hoarse, but Stiles could hear the amazement in her voice. Almost like awe, even. He stared at her, trying to search her face for what she was thinking.

"And me," he repeated, a small smile creeping onto his face.

* * *

Lydia wasn't sure what was happening.

His smile, though innocent and barely even a smile, seemed to dazzle her. His cheekbones, prominent yet beautiful, seemed to make her dizzy. And his hair, that fell so dramatically over his sharp features, seemed to reel her in, as if he would save her from all these strange feelings. Something about the way he told the story too, as if he'd heard it a thousand times himself, made her heart thrum with sadness. Just a boy, _barely old enough to remember_, and he struggled with this crazy world.

She couldn't even imagine what it'd be like to live like that.

As she studied him silently, she barely noticed Stiles' eyes on her. But seeming to get fed up with the silence, he tugged on her arm, pulling her from her reverie and finally looking up at him.

"Can we talk?" he asked sharply, giving her a perplexed look.

She glanced one last time at Jordan and nodded, lifting herself from the couch.

"Sorry, we'll be right back," she said, smiling kindly.

As she followed Stiles up the stairs to her room, she felt suddenly angry. As if waking up from a perfect dream and having your rude mother standing over you, telling you to wake up already.

"You don't have to be so rude to him you know," she snipped at Stiles, crossing her arms over her chest as she entered behind him. He closed the door quickly as soon as she flopped down on the bed, spinning around so fast that she wondered if she'd have missed it in a single blink.

"We can't trust him, Lydia," he said in one quick breath. He seemed anxious, his hands flailing as he spoke. She'd learned over their time spent together that when Stiles was nervous, on a roll, or excited he tended to throw in a lot more hand gestures.

"And why, pray tell, is that?" she asked, with a dubious look on her face, her arms still crossed over her chest.

"Because!" he yelled. "_Because we can't_."

"Ooh, solid argument. Ever thought of joining the debate team, Stilinski?"

"This isn't _funny_, Lydia," he snapped as he began pacing around the room. "He's not even worth the trouble anyways. The whole point of bringing him here was so we could get information. We have that now. And as he said, he hasn't seen Peter and Derek in years. He won't even meet with them. He's useless to us."

After Jordan had finished his story he'd gone on to tell them that he hadn't actually seen his family in years. They'd ostracized him shortly before the fire because of a spat between him and Derek. He and his mother had been sent away to quell the issues. Victoria had returned to visit the family only days before Kate Argent had set aflame the Hale house and died alongside her sister, leaving Jordan with his godmother, Regina.

"So just because he's got some bad blood with his uncle and cousin, we should just give up?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him. "You obviously have never witnessed my talents at persuasion."

He simply stood there staring at her, his mouth open as if about to chastise her. He seemed to think better of it however and simply shook his head and glanced down at the floor, his foot tapping in a nervous habit.

"Just-" he began, grabbing at his hair in frustration,"-just _promise me_, Lydia. _Promise me _you won't get too close with this guy."

"I'm perfectly capable of handling myself, thank yo-"

"_Lydia_," he stopped her, falling on his knees in front of her, his hands planted on either side of her on the edge of the bed. "Just promise me, okay? We don't know this guy, we don't know anything about him, dammit. He could be a killer, for all we know! He could be just like Peter, don't you get that?"

Lydia looked down at him, her hands falling to her sides as she searched his eyes. He looked so intense, his eyes glazed over and pleading with her. Those big brown eyes.

"I just… I just need you to not get hurt, okay? I need to promise me that you'll be safe. That you won't do anything stupid." He stared down at her knees, as if in deep thought. "Because… Because…"

_Because you'll be devastated,_ she remembered._ You'll go out of your freaking mind_.

She simply stared at him as he searched for the words, watching as his eyes watered over. She couldn't believe how she'd made this boy so sad, so sad that he'd possibly tear up at the simple thought of her getting hurt. What had she done all those years ago in the third grade that made him feel so much for her? And why couldn't she remember him? Why had it taken her this long to even notice him?

"I promise," she heard herself say. "I promise I won't do anything stupid."

She placed her hand over his and squeezed it, her nerves settling as a grateful smile split his face. She smiled back, she too grateful. But not for the moment, but more so for the friendship that had developed between them. The only humans left, the only non-werewolves and non-hunters left in their screwy social circle, she couldn't deny the need she had for a friend like Stiles. He made her feel comfortable, even while they bickered like an old married couple or stared at each other like death was just around the corner, she felt at home.

Like she still had a friend left in this crazy world.

"Let's go," he said, standing up and tugging on her hand to follow him. "He's probably eaten all the cookies by now."

She laughed and followed him back into the hallway.

"Well, we can't have that, now can we?"

She reached back into the room to click off the lights and her eyes lingered on the spot where she'd been sitting. She could still feel his hand under hers, flexing with emotion as he begged her to be careful. She hadn't been aware of it at the time, but she wondered if she'd lied to him.

She hoped, beyond hope, that she hadn't.

* * *

Later that night, the water poured over Lydia's head and clacked against the porcelain tub below her feet. Although she knew logically that she'd had a shower that morning, after the events of the afternoon, she felt like there was dirt plastering her entire body. The tales of death and betrayal seemed to cling to her like mud, and despite the three coats of shampoo she'd already scrubbed through her scalp, she poured another dollop into her palm.

She wished there was a way for her to simply scrub away her skin completely and grow a new coat, fresh and new like buying a new designer hand bag. But nothing was that easy, and instead she massaged the shampoo out of her hair, letting the water dribble over her eyes.

After she had applied conditioner, let it sit for a minute, and washed that out too, she finally decided she could bear shutting down the shower.

Pulling back the curtains, she stepped out onto the rug and grabbed a towel to wrap around her head. As she made to rub her hair between the edges of her towel, however, she flashed a glance to the window across from her. Her bathroom was on the second floor, but a tree sat directly outside the window. And although the pane had fogged up a bit from her shower, she swore she could see blue balls – eyes she thought – peering at her from the other side.

Freezing in her spot, she rushed to pull the towel tight around her body, hiding herself from whatever creep was perched in her tree outside. Balling her hand into a fist, she cleared away the condensation and squinted her eyes to make out the form.

But just as soon as she'd seen them, the blue balls were gone and apparently the person with them. Pushing open the window, she leaned over the edge to look down at her front lawn, curious to see if she could see the pervert escaping. Though she swore she saw a quick flash of movement, the lawn was nearly completely bathed in black.

Not a person in sight.

She sighed and pulled the window shut again, shaking her head at herself. She stared at herself in the mirror, the eyeliner she'd forgotten to remove smeared around her eyes, and her hair hanging limp from her head. Perhaps she'd only imagined the eyes. It had been a long day, after all, filled with stories that would frighten even the most fearless of women.

So, she decided, clearly she was imagining things.

Everything would be better once the sun rose.

* * *

**AN –** SO THE KISS. JUST THE KISS. That was by far the best episode of all time, right? Sorry, not totally relevant, but COME ON. You know you're all still thinking about it. Anyways, what'd you guys think about the chapter? I know I'm straying pretty far from Jeff Davis' season three, but I figure it'd be easier to stick with my original outline then try and fit it too much with his ideas. You'll see it overlap some in the coming chapters, but again I've planned out this entire story from start to finish (I just to need to write it now dammit) so it'll be pretty off canon. So again, any predictions? Worries? Wishes? Let me know! And thanks to all who've followed, reviewed, favourite, reblogged, and so on. I love you all dearly and I really hope you enjoy the rest of the story!


	6. Chapter 6

**Caged**

**Bacon, Bacon, Bacon!**

* * *

Lydia woke the next morning to the smells of pork being fried.

It wasn't something she typically associated with the Martin household, in fact, she really only associated it with the greasy Diner down the street – which of course she'd never been to… more than once at least. Nevertheless, the Martin house generally smelt of her mother's perfume and fabric softener, occasionally like Chinese takeout when Lydia was too lazy to cook something herself. But even when she did cook something herself it was straight from her mother's list of "Beauty Foods", and generally they lacked just as much smell as they did taste.

Without much hesitation, however, Lydia slipped out of her pink comforter and pulled on her robe, following the delicious smells to the kitchen.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," greeted Jordan over his shoulder, grinning at her as she shuffled into the room, taking a seat on one of the stools that overlooked the kitchen. And more importantly, the extravagant meal he seemed to be preparing.

"Morning," she replied, resting her head on her crossed arms. "What's for breakfast?"

Jordan laughed as he took the pan off the stove top, tipping it so that the fatty bacon slid off onto the plate he'd prepared.

"Can't you smell it?"

"Yeah," she said sleepily. "But who knows, tofu bacon can smell freakishly similar to normal bacon."

He made a face at her but continued on with the routine, grabbing the carton of orange juice from the fridge.

"You've had tofu bacon before?" he asked, seeming disgusted by the idea.

"'Course not. That'd have way too many calories."

He watched her as if waiting for the punch line, but she simply shrugged and straightened up, letting him place a plate in front of her.

"How do you like your eggs?" he asked as Lydia grabbed a piece of the bacon from the plate and nibbled at it. After the first bite, however, she gave in and nearly shoved it down her throat.

What her mother didn't know wouldn't kill her… right?

"Cooked," she replied with a smirk.

"Right, scrambled it is," he said with a laugh, turning his back on her.

"Did you have a good sleep?" she asked between bites of her second piece of bacon.

He paused for a moment, but she passed it off as distraction.

"Good enough."

He flashed her a smile over her shoulder and she felt herself smile back. Perhaps it was contagious.

"How long have you been up?"

He glanced fiddled with the dials on the stove as he considered his answer, scrunching is eyebrows.

"2? Maybe 3 hours? Not too long. Caught up on my reading, actually."

He nodded towards her father's bookcase in the living room, which housed almost every classic you could name. Her father had always been a more reserved man, but when he read Lydia could swear he looked like the most interesting man in the world. He'd laugh to himself out loud even though no one could read what he was reading or he'd let a very stern look cross over his face during the sad scenes, which Lydia knew immediately was really the sign that he was trying to hold back his tears.

She could deny, then, for those reasons, that it made her a little uneasy that Jordan had been looking through the bookcase. She and her mother had never been big readers, so the idea of someone else even touching the pages seemed… well, like someone was violating the memories of her father. He may have been cold at times, but she still wanted those good memories for herself. And by reading the books, it was almost as if Jordan had intruded on them.

Lydia quickly shook her head, trying to rid herself of the very thoughts. He hadn't meant it like that, in fact, she couldn't blame him for reading some _books_, could she? Certainly, she was just being silly.

"Oh good," she said, with a forced smile.

"Yeah, I liked them. You've got some cool stuff."

"My dad does," she muttered to herself, barely loud enough to hear.

"What was that?"

She paused as she stared at the bookcase.

"Nothing," she said quickly, turning back to Jordan and smiling kindly. "Now if you don't hurry up, I'm going to finish this whole plate without you."

He laughed and nodded, sliding some of the finished scrambled eggs onto her plate. After preparing his own plate, he leaned over the counter towards her, stabbing the eggs with his fork.

"You know what I think, Lydia?"

The question was so out of the blue, and so very vague, that she nearly choked on her food. When she'd finally managed to clear her throat – after a bout of awfully attractive coughing, if she did say so herself – she raised a single eyebrow at the boy.

"What's that?"

"Well," he began, shifting so he leaned just a little closer, his icy eyes peering into hers as if they had a secret between the two of them. "I think everyone in this one horse town grossly underestimates Lydia Martin."

An awkward laugh escaped her as she half scoffed at the idea.

"Right," she drawled, taking another bite.

"I'm serious," he said, and she couldn't deny that she was a little taken aback by his tone. He _did_ sound pretty serious.

She simply stared back at him with a sceptical look.

"I mean, _come on_, Lydia. Surely you know how amazing you are?" His eyes sparkled as the words left his mouth, and for a moment, she was enthralled by what he was saying. "You never wonder why it's always so easy for you to convince people to do whatever you want? You're immune to the bite, Lydia. _Immune_. Do you understand how crazy that is?"

For a moment she wondered where he'd heard that. But then, in a split second, she remembered the conversation they'd had late last night. After Stiles had left, per the Sherriff's curfew, Jordan had asked if she could tell him about everything that had happened since Scott had become a werewolf. So naturally, she'd focused mainly on her time with Peter, subsequently his uncle. Turns out, he knew all too well of the evil side of Peter Hale.

"So what? It could mean nothing," she said, emphatically, standing up to turn her back on him. Suddenly, she'd lost her appetite. The thought of Peter tended to that to her.

"Nothing? Are you _kidding_ me?"

He'd stepped around the counter now and was right next to her, his hand grazing her arm.

"Don't you see, Red? Don't you see how special you are?" He stepped in front of her, and despite what her head was telling her, her feet stayed planted to the ground. "You're not just immune, Lydia. You're the _cure_."

* * *

Stiles was officially considering committing murder.

Not because he had a sudden need to go chopping up local prostitutes and throwing them into a stew – he wasn't a psychopath, he was just sick of looking at this damn textbook. Coach Finstock, the kind gracious man he was, had decided that it was perfectly normal to assign a five page research project for next Monday all on the chapter that Stiles, ever so conveniently, had never actually gotten around to reading.

So for those reasons, amongst others accumulated over the many years on the lacrosse team, Stiles was looking up the standard wage for hitmen on Google.

"Oh another page on the history of Mr. No-One-Gives-A-Shit!" he muttered to himself. "Just what I was craving…"

He scratched the back of his neck and slumped back in his chair, his eyes boring into the ceiling.

Ever since Jordan's arrival, he hadn't been able to think straight. Whether in school or elsewhere, he kept finding his mind wandering to the fact that the guy just seemed… well, _off_. He knew full well that he was being ridiculous, that he had no basis for his suspicions, and yet, he couldn't control it. Maybe it was his father's genes inside him, but he had a feeling ignoring this instinct would only bite him in the ass.

Although, even with these worries, he couldn't even pin point quite _what_ he thought was wrong with Jordan. He seemed nice enough; in fact, he was being surprisingly forthcoming about the Hales' life stories during their weekly meetings. Stiles even got a lead from Jordan's story about Peter's rather unfortunate public break up with Heather Turner, who just happened to be in Kali's pack back in the day. Before the whole awkward murdering of them all, of course. Not much of a lead really, but at least it was better than sitting around doing nothing.

For the next couple minutes – or maybe hours, he wasn't sure – Stiles memorised every bump on the popcorn ceiling, counting each one to save the information away for a rainy day. Just as he moved on to the left side of the ceiling, his chair swiveling back and forth, he heard the steps approaching his door and barely had enough time to scramble back to his desk before his dad had blown through the door.

"Look at that," he announced as Stiles pretended to shockingly look up from his notes, "it almost appears as if you were actually studying. What a picture."

"Not so convincing, eh?" he asked, grinning sheepishly.

"After nearly two decades, Stiles, I think I've figured you out."

"Best detective in the world, my dad," he said, laughing awkwardly and he swiveled his chair around, his dad taking a seat on the bed. "So what's up, Pop?"

The sheriff got freakishly silent, and suddenly Stiles felt his palms get sweaty on instinct from years of avoiding confrontation on all fronts. He hadn't seen his father angry very often, but in his experience, it was better to appease an angry Sheriff Stilinski.

"Well, Stiles," he began, "I'm just going to get right to the point…

His eyes narrowed in conviction and Stiles tried to stamp down the need to look away.

"Are you doing drugs?"

For a moment, not even a brief thought crossed his mind.

"Am I… _what_?"

"Doing drugs?" he repeated, as if he hadn't heard it right the first time.

"No!" yelled Stiles, completely confused as to where this conversation was going.

"Selling drugs?"

The sheriff's eyebrows were rising closer and closer to his hairline and Stiles couldn't believe his father, his father that knew him supposedly better than anyone in the world, could possibly think he was doing drugs. Stiles couldn't even drink half a cup of coffee without having incontrollable shakes for an entire week following, let alone manage hard core drugs.

"Yes, Dad. Right after school, before I come by the station, I stop by the park and hand out dime bags behind the dug outs. It was a little rough at first, but once I threatened to knife the guy who had claimed the corner of Fifth and Pine, I pretty much owned all of Beacon Hills."

"There's a drug dealer on Fifth and Pine?"

Stiles simply stared at him, disbelieving.

"Dad, what's going on? What would possibly make you believe I'm dealing drugs?"

His father shifted in his seat, rubbing his hands against his thighs.

"Well you can't blame me!" he defended. "You've been out all day, even weekends, not getting back till nine or ten, tired and smelling like perfume. I figured you'd been trying to mask the scents of your criminal activities."

"What amazing deductive skills you have."

"Don't be cute with me, son. I'm just trying to figure out what you've been doing. Scott doesn't know, so I could only assume-"

"You asked Scott?" Stiles interrupted.

"Well, what was I supposed to do, Stiles."

Stiles scoffed and stood from his seat, beginning to pace between the door and his desk.

"I dunno! Talk to me maybe? Ask _me_ what's going on with me? Novel idea, I know, but I think about a million divorce lawyers around the world could tell you that communication is the savior of all bad marriages."

"We're not married, Stiles. You're my son."

"Not the point!" he exclaimed, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance.

"So tell me then! What's going on?"

Stiles ran his tongue over his top set of teeth, glaring at the spot on the wall just above his father's head. He wasn't sure why he was so livid, but it seemed that lately his emotions ran away from him faster and faster.

"I'm not selling drugs," he said simply, finally letting his shoulders relax as he made eye contact with his father. "I'm just-" he paused, "hanging out. With Lydia."

In almost comical fashion, the sheriff's eyes widened in shock, as if about to pop out of his head. His jaw fell open but no words came out and he simply stared at his son, looking like a fish out of water.

"You having a stroke or something?" he asked, seriously concerned.

He shut his mouth finally and scrunched his eyebrows, looking down at his shoes.

"You're… hanging out… with… _Lydia_?"

"Try not to act so surprised, Dad, really."

"I'm not surprised, just… Happy for you," he tilted his head to the side as if not certain he'd quite processed the situation yet, "I guess."

"Well, thanks… I think."

And with that, the mandatory father-son talk for the month was satisfied and they swiftly redirected the conversation to the Jays game and what they'd be having for dinner. Probably roast beef.

Thankfully, a subject Stiles and the Sheriff could relate on.

* * *

Lydia stared, wide eyed, at the boy in front of her.

Had he really said what she thought he'd just said? Surely he wasn't that completely mad that he would actually think she was… Well what? What exactly did he think she _was_? Some sort of weird supernatural werewolf curing creature? Had she missed that character in the children stories?

"Lydia, you're _special_."

She shook her head frantically, stepping away from him and running her hands through her hair.

"I am not, nor will I ever be _special_, Jordan," she stated firmly. "Well, I am _special_, in a can-find-a-designer-handbag-on-sale-anywhere kind of special, but not in a save-the-werewolf-population kind of special, if you know what I mean."

She gave him credit for not responding to her rambling.

"You're the cure, Lydia, you are. I know it."

"You know it, huh? And how is that? What proof do you have that I'm… that I'm the _cure_?"

"You're not the first one, Lydia! There have been people like you before," he said, quickly as if knowing she'd bolt if he slowed down even a second. "In Seattle, ten years ago, a woman named Margaret George was found bled and beaten in a forest by the reserve. It's a known fact that a pack had been beginning near there, and Margaret, was not on good terms with them.

"She was a friend of the pack's emissary, seemed innocent enough. But one night, in the dead of the night she was attacked by a mountain lion. Or, as we know, a werewolf. Three bites, all along her neck," Lydia shivered as Jordan traced the spots along his own neck, "and yet, she survived. Most people after the bite either-"

"Turn or die," Lydia finished for him, her expression growing more concerned by the minute.

"Yeah, turn or die." He swallowed, but continued. "But Margaret didn't die of mysterious causes, and as far as anyone could tell, she was still very much human."

"But she wasn't," she guessed.

"She was like you, Lydia. _Immune_. The bite didn't affect her. And the pack tested her limits too. Bit her thousands of times, feeding her werewolf blood, biting her on full moons, all of it. And yet, she remained human."

He stepped towards her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

Lydia didn't swipe it away.

"They killed her didn't they?" she asked, quietly.

"They bled her dry, too afraid of what they didn't understand."

The air in the house seemed to grow dense, sticking to her skin and making her hands clammy. Her head began to drum and she just wanted to lie down, forget about this story, this day, maybe everything that had happened in the last two years if possible.

"But what about this makes you think I'm the cure?"

"Because her friend, the emissary, left a journal."

Despite the story, he seemed to rebound pretty effortlessly, already excited about his big reveal again.

"Inside she described all these experiments they'd been doing. Trying to see what Margaret could possibly be. They started with simple things, testing her blood and looking at it under a microscope. But soon, they figured it out. And this is the craziest part."

She couldn't understand what about any of this would cause anyone to smile, but yet, a small excited grin seemed to rip at Jordan's face.

"When she focused her energy – like a mental wave, her friend described in the journal – she could actually bring down supernatural creatures in a certain radius. More specifically, paralyse their powers."

"Paralyse their powers?"

"They noticed it first with the emissary magic, as her friend could no longer make working mountain ash circles, etc. Then they tried it during the full moon, on one of the younger more swayable members of the pack. And just like that, for the first time in history, a werewolf couldn't turn – no matter how hard he tried – on a full moon."

The silence crept on for a long second, Jordan staring at her expectantly like a dog waiting on a reward for his latest trick.

"So you think… what? That I can take away a werewolf's powers… forever?"

"Yes, I do, Lydia." His hand drifted up to her cheek and now she couldn't find anything but his eyes, staring down at her. "Because what Margaret George was missing was courage and strength, both things you have heaps of, Lydia Martin. I know you can do it, with practice of course. But you can. _ I know it._"

The words stirred something inside her that she hadn't been expecting. The certainty, his belief that she was strong enough, brave enough, made her feel kind of… well, _needed_. She spent all her life having boys fall over her because they found her appealing and they _wanted_ her, but being needed was a whole other cup of tea. It was a sensation she couldn't describe, something new and brilliant and something she just wanted to lock up and hold onto forever.

And so, with the words still lingering in the air, Lydia Martin with all her strength and bravery leaned forward and captured Jordan's lips in hers.

* * *

**AN- **Duh duh duuhhhh! Yeah, I know. Sucks to be Stiles right now. I promise it'll be looking up for him soon (so no hate on Lydia, she's fragile and confused people!). Anyways, BIG sorry for this taking so long. I'm an awful person, it's now official. I've been swamped with school and work and rewatching Gilmore Girls (yes that is on the same level as school and work, that is my life. That is how lame I am) so again, sorry for the huge wait. But it's finally here! Chapter six! As you can see I wasn't a huge fan of the whole Banshee storyline (just really predictable, right?) so I went with my own thing. Hope it's not horrible. Anyways, let me know what you guys think, okay? Please stay with me because all the good Stydia stuff is still to come and if you just stick with me until the end I promise you won't be sorry!


End file.
